For several moments, Ktandeo sat frowning in thought. Finally he looked up, his brown eyes dark with anger, and sharply rapped her knuckle with his cane’s black pommel. “You are playing a dangerous game, girl.”
Sadira’s slim jaw dropped at Ktandeo’s accusatory tone. “What?” she gasped, rubbing her aching hand.
The old man gave her a disapproving scowl. “Is your control so good that you can cast a half-dozen spells a day, all under stress, and maintain the balance? Someone of twice your experience wouldn’t have the stamina. I shudder to think of the damage you did.”
Sadira was glad she hadn’t mentioned the tentacle spell along with the others. Ktandeo would probably have declared her a defiler, a sorcerer who abused the land. According to the traditions of the Veiled Alliance, members who became defilers were executed.
“And was it really necessary to murder three-”
“A templar and two slave guards!” Sadira objected.
“Still human beings,” Ktandeo countered. “You sound as though you’re proud of yourself.”
“What if I am?” the half-elf demanded, rising to her feet. “Any one of them would have flogged, raped, or murdered me in an instant. As far as I’m concerned, I got to them before they got to me. Why shouldn’t I be proud?”
The old man also rose. “Listen to yourself!” he snapped, angrily waving his cane over her head. “You sound like a templar! What’s the difference between you and them?”
“The same as the difference between you and Kalak,” she retorted. “If you’re going to assassinate the king, why am I wrong to kill his men?”
“Kalak is the source of our evil. He’s the one who has outlawed magic, who defiles the land, who makes slavery a way of life, who rules his subjects with murder and fear-”
“I suppose that once Tyr is rid of him, his templar and nobles will suddenly become servants of good? You can’t believe that.”
Ktandeo shook his head vigorously. “Of course not,” he said. “But Kalak is the foundation. Knock him out and the rest of the structure will fall.”
“Even without Kalak, you’re not going to topple the bureaucracy and the nobility without bloodshed,” Sadira objected. “So I don’t see what’s wrong with fighting now.”
“Nothing is wrong with fighting, or even with ambush and assassination-as long as you’re freeing a group of slaves, or destroying a brickyard, or working toward another worthy purpose. But to kill out of hatred …” Ktandeo let the sentence trail off. “It isn’t worthy of you, girl.”
Sadira lashed out with her lean arm and swept their mugs off the bench. They hit the stone wall and smashed into dozens of pieces. “Don’t you address me like a slave!” she spat, her pale eyes flaring with fire. “And don’t judge me. What do you know about being a slave? Have you ever felt the whip upon your back?”
After a tense pause she said, “I thought as much.”
The red-bearded man stepped around the curtain, a pair of flagons in his hands and a small blackjack tucked into his apron. “I thought I heard someone drop a mug,” he said, eyeing the earthenware shards on the floor. “Here’s refills.” He cast a meaningful glance at Ktandeo, then added, “Try not to spill them.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” said the old man after the barman had gone. His voice was gentler than it had been a few moments before. He sat back down and carefully laid his cane across his lap so that he wouldn’t be tempted to swing it around. “Now that you’ve exposed yourself, you’ll have to go to another city.”
“I’m not leaving,” Sadira replied, struggling to keep from raising her voice. “I’m not ready to leave Rikus.”
“Rikus? What about him?” Ktandeo asked. He took a long draught from his mug.
“I haven’t asked him to throw the spear,” Sadira answered. “In fact, he still doesn’t know I’m in the Veiled Alliance.”
“At least you followed those instructions,” the old man said.
“I do try.” Sadira felt a tear running down her cheek and quickly turned away to wipe it off her face. Ktandeo was the closest thing to a father she had ever known. Despite the fact that she thought he was being overly sensitive about the guards she had killed, the confrontation with him distressed her more than she liked to admit.
When she turned her attention back to Ktandeo, the old man’s brown eyes had softened, but he still held his jaw firmly set. “Once Tithian hears how you saved Rikus, he’ll know you wear the veil. He’ll look under every cobblestone in Tyr to find you.”
“But if I leave, who’ll ask Rikus to throw the spear?” she objected.
“Right now, I don’t even know if there’s going to be a spear to throw,” Ktandeo said. “I haven’t fetched it, and the way things are going, I won’t be able to.”
“Why not?” Sadira demanded, alarmed.
Ktandeo ran a large, liver-spotted hand over his wrinkled brow. “The king is striking at us,” he said. “Already, his men have stormed the houses and shops of fifteen members. In defending themselves, they have killed fifty templars and a dozen half-giants, but the enemy is trying to capture our people alive. Each time they succeed, the king’s mindbenders learn another name or two, and a little more of our network is exposed. Sooner or later, they’ll get a grand councilor. When that happens …”
Sadira resisted the temptation to ask what could possibly be more important than killing Kalak, for if there was a legitimate answer, it would be better not to know it if she was captured. Instead, she said, “I’ll get the spear for you. By the time I return, things will be calmer and I can talk to Rikus then.”
Ktandeo shook his head. “The spear is being made by a halfling chief. If I send anyone else to get it, he’ll kill them.”
“I’ll take that chance,” Sadira offered. “You just send a healer to make sure Rikus is alive when I get back.”
“I’m not sending you to a certain death. I’m sending you away to safety,” Ktandeo said, automatically reaching for his cane. He thumped the tip on the floor, then added, “And why this doting on Rikus? There are plenty of other gladiators.”
“Not like Rikus,” Sadira returned.
Ktandeo raised an eyebrow. “And what’s so different about the mul?”
Sadira felt hot blood rise to her cheeks. “He’s a champion,” she said, taking a gulp of wine and setting her mug back on the bench. “He’s the only gladiator you can be sure will live long enough to get a clean throw at the king during the games.”
“We’ll find another time and place to attack,” Ktandeo answered, looking away with an unconcerned expression.
“If that were possible, you would have attacked him by now,” Sadira said, realizing that Ktandeo was toying with her, probably in an effort to determine the extent of her attraction to Rikus. She rose, continuing, “You’re the one who told me to get close to Rikus, and I did. If that upsets you, I’m sorry. It doesn’t change the fact that we need him. You’ve got to send help to him, and I’ve got to be the one who asks him to throw the spear.”
“No! You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment!” Ktandeo growled, also rising. “Think! If you stay in Tyr and Tithian tracks you down, what can you tell him? Not only can you identify me and this wineshop, you can describe our whole plan to him!”
“Then make sure I don’t get caught!” Sadira answered.
“That would be impossible, especially considering the way you’ve been talking tonight,” Ktandeo snapped, thumping her in the chest with his cane. “As for Rikus, if I sent him a healer and that healer got caught, which would be likely, Tithian would know we’re planning something for the mul. He’d guess what it was in an instant, and then our plan would be no good at all.”
The old man paused to scowl at Sadira. She could feel her lips trembling, but she did not know how to respond to Ktandeo. What he said made sense, but she could not accept the old man’s cold logic. Rikus was more than a hulking mass of muscle who they hoped would kill Kalak, and she was more than a lifeless puppet to be discarded when she was no longer of any use.